High School (Musical?)
by Enjolrachet
Summary: When you go to such a highly regarded high school, it's best to keep the drama onstage and out of your social life. This is the story of Alfred F. Jones and his struggles with friendship, school, and showtunes.


The music pulses evenly in the background, loud and heavy so that I can feel the gritty beat in my chest and in my head, giving me an unbelievable headache. I feel nauseous. It's either the music, or the fruity drink Francis bought me that's making my stomach flip. Either way, I'm literally going to puke my guts out on the attractive, leather-clad man besides me. And since I don't want our first encounter to involve my intestines splattered all over his nice, expensive-looking jacket, I merely grimace and tighten my grip on the countertop to keep my balance.

At least I'm not the only one feeling out of place. Matthew sits at the bar, wearing a broody expression. I forgot that his idea for good Saturday night is staying at home, drinking that maple-coffee shit, and crying over a John Green book. Partying at a dingy, grungy nightclub is the closest thing to hell he can experience.

Once again, as it is with most of our misadventures, this expedition happens to be Francis' idea. For a moment, I envy Arthur and wish I was sick with the flu as well. Then at least I wouldn't have to mope around all evening and wonder when tight-ass-leather-pants would make a move on me.

Seriously.

I'm hot.

He's hot.

How does that not compute with him?

Ugh.

Stupid attractive loser.

Matthew nudges my shoulder to get my attention, pulling me from my angsty, hormonal, sulk-fest. Face completely deadpan, he says, "If we leave now while Francis' still in the bathroom, I'm pretty sure we won't get caught. And we'll have enough time to catch the premier of Supernatural."

I'm glad he at least has his priorities straight.

Still, we couldn't just leave, right?I give him a look, reminding him that when he had wanted to go to his dumb book-signing a month ago, Francis had waited patiently by the food court while Matthew practically interrogated the author for an hour at said signing. He had challenged her choices for the characters and, as a result from getting so worked up, their own choices in life. Honestly, he probably wasn't even a fan of the books. Matthew just wanted to criticize the writer.

It had been horrible.

I cried.

He cried.

That poor lady cried.

We all cried.

Francis seemed perfectly fine, though. He'd been chilling in the coffee shop during the whole fiasco.

(Probably just to flirt with the barista behind the counter, but if I let Matthew know this, then my argument would all be for naught.)

But Mattie seems to already be on the same page as me, and continues, "He can take a cab home. He's done it before on the way back from his boyfriends' houses. And need I remind you, he's got his phone with him anyways. But the guy that followed him into the men's room isn't letting him go any time soon." The fact that Matthew has said this much in one go is evidence that he's one-thousand percent done with Francis' antics for the night.

If I'm being honest, I'm a little irritated too. But the fact that my shy best friend has the gall to point out Francis' promiscuity is hilarious, considering that at any other occasion he'd say nothing.

I snort inelegantly, making Mr. Leather grimace. Whatever. He had all evening to appreciate my existence, but his loss. "We gotta get back soon, anyhow."

Matthew takes in my excited expression and his stern face warms. "I know, I know," he says softly. As softly as one can with rave music screaming overhead. "I haven't even finished my English homework yet..."

We all go to the World Academy Magnet School for Technology and Performing Arts.

I initially joined for the technical aspect-think graphic design-but before the summer started, Francis made me audition with him for the school's theater program as a joke.

The joke was an all of us when we got our acceptance letters for Musical Theater.

Like.

What the hell?

Freshman never got in. Ever. The only other Freshie to make the cut was Arthur Kirkland, my roommate and a childhood pal of Francis'.

Anyway. Auditions for the Fall Musical were tomorrow. Despite myself, I was hella excited. The Performing Arts Center on campus was incredible.

Also, since Matthew was in orchestra, he got to play music for the shows. And since he can read music-and I can't-he's been helping me with the audition pieces.

I gotta make a good impression. Even if this is all for fun, I can't half-ass this.

"Alfred, I already sent him a text," Matthew says.

I nod absentmindedly, and make an airy motion with my hand. "Let's go then! I don't want to get in trouble for being here..."

By the time we get to the dorm, Arthur is asleep. Thank god. I don't need a lecture about my lack of responsibility. Francis wouldn't be able to protect me from his royal pain's might.

Exhausted, I have barely crawled into bed before I pass out. I hear Matthew murmur goodnight, but I'm too far gone to even grunt a response.

**AN: Hi! I'm Enjolrachet, and this is my first fic. I do not own the boys and I have big dreams for this story! No pairings are figured out yet, but I already have ideas for what musical I want them to do. I'm thinking RENT. :/**

**There are not enough fics about the boys doing high school productions in which everything goes wrong. **


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